


The One Where The Pack Play Matchmakers...

by geoodlestuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Sterek, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Getting Together, Multi, Pack Feels, Ridiculous, The Pack is Responsible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoodlestuff/pseuds/geoodlestuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How do you even know they like each other?” Scott asks, frowning. </p><p>“If your sniffer is that dull, I’d suggest making an appointment with the alpha for some scent training, Scott, seriously. Pheromones. Everywhere.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where The Pack Play Matchmakers...

  Stiles loves Christmas. In his opinion, December is the best damn time of the year. It’s all snow, family, friends, food, presents and no school. It’s perfect. There is one thing he hates, however: Christmas shopping. God, he loathes Christmas shopping with vehemence.

  He’s currently in the mall, shopping, facing the many bustling bodies completely alone and unprotected. He’s nearly tripped over three people’s heels and had his back slammed into several times already, and he’s only been here for an hour. It’s crazy. But he has to get it done now, because he knows for damn sure that it’s only going to get worse every day closer to Christmas and that by next week he’d be lucky to get out alive. Seriously, all the supernatural creatures yet shopping could very well be the thing to kill him in the end. Stiles would take a kanima any day, thanks.

The last thing he expects, as he’s armed with three bags of presents with more to buy and a pen stuck in his mouth as he reads his list again, is to bump into a solid wall of muscle and fall on his ass. Or, in other words, bounce of Derek Hale’s chest. Yikes, maybe he really will die while shopping.

Derek isn’t alone, either. Isaac and Erica are with him, smirking at Stiles as he groans, blinking up at the three leather clad werewolves.

“Stiles,” Derek grinds out. Stiles thinks that may be a new record: pissing Derek off within a millisecond. Whatever though, Derek’s not his alpha or his friend (although it would be awesome if for once he could be in the presence of an unfairly attractive person without pissing them off or embarrassing himself, and it’s typical that he’s managed to do both here so quickly he’s given himself whiplash). He still accepts the hand that’s offered to him though, and is pleasantly surprised when Isaac picks his bags up and hands them back to him.

“Thanks,” he inclines his head between the two of them, and Derek just arches a singular eyebrow. Jerk. “Well,” Stiles says, “I best be off. Things to do; some presents to buy.”

“So it would seem,” Derek comments, seemingly mildly. Beneath that tone is an onion of sarcasm – seriously, all those layers.

Stiles really needs to stop re-watching Shrek and start doing something with his life. One most certainly needs to re-evaluate their life choices when comparing Derek Hale’s levels of sarcasm to an onion. Although, personality wise, maybe Derek is an ogre. Definitely not an ogre in the looks department though... He shakes his head rapidly.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, glaring a little. Derek gives him a judgemental look.

“What does one do in the mall in December, Stiles?” He asks. Stiles’ glare only increases in intensity. Derek looks unimpressed, as do Isaac and Erica.

“Well excuse me for being sceptical about an anti-social rage ball and his two sociopathic pups doing Christmas shopping.”

“Cute,” Erica comments with a lethal grin.

“That is exactly what I mean!” Stiles flails. Derek just tilts his head. Damn if that isn’t a good jaw line.

“Unnecessarily harsh, Stiles, don’t you think?” Derek asks.

“Possibly... I apologise. Merry Christmas, Derek, pups.” Stiles nods and hurries off, embarrassed and confused and really, really hungry. There was a nice looking pastry in the window of that bakery earlier...

* * *

 

**_Hey dude, U hanging out tonight?_ **

**_Sorry got plans will call u l8r_ **

**_K_ **

Stiles loves Allison, really, he does; but God damn if she isn’t hogging all his bro time. Scott, just lately, has been all “plans this” and “plans that”, and it’s even worse now than it was back before they broke up. On a whim, he shoots out a text to Danny.

**_Yo Danny..._ **

**_What do you want, Stiles?_ **

**_U fancy hanging out with me_ **

**_Is that a thing that we do?_ **

**_Uh, once or twice, we did..._ **

**_Once and you lied about studying to get me to trace a text using my attraction to your “cousin” as a distraction._ **

**_Please Danny_ **

**_There’s a Christmas film on, if it will shut you up_ **

**_You’re awesome Danny, thanks._ **

Really, Danny is the best.

**_Don’t mention it. Be there in an hour._ **

Stiles looks down at his attire: baggy khakis, loose shirt and plaid over shirt, holey socks. Okay, so he should change into something far more acceptable. After about twenty minutes of huffing and puffing over an outfit, he settles on a pair of still-kind-of-new denim jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He finishes the look with one of his nicer plaid shirts, the red and dark blue one, and a black hoodie. Before he knows it, he has fifteen minutes to get to the cinema and he hasn’t even found his shoes.

  By some miracle, he arrives on time, and Danny actually smiles at him when he gets there – dimples and everything! Maybe Stiles will make more friends after all.

* * *

 

  The next time Stiles sees Derek, it’s a complete accident. But it’s still all Scott’s fault.

  “Hey, dude, sorry about last night. Isaac-”

“I thought you were with Allison?” Stiles interrupts, causing Scott to stall.

“I never told you I was with Allison though?”

“It was a fair presumption,” Stiles concedes after taking a moment to think over their brief text conversation. Scott looks at him before nodding, and Stiles swears he hears him mutter something about “more believable, yeah” under his breath, but he isn’t sure, and he does like the idea of coffee, so he doesn’t mention it and lets Scott lead the way.

They enter a small cafe on the corner that isn’t frequented by anyone really, so of course Derek and Erica of all the people are sitting in the corner booth by the window.

“Hey Scott, why don’t you and Stiles come and sit with us,” Erica smirks, and Stiles is just about to protest when Scott – Scott! – shrugs and says, “Sure, why not”, as if that isn’t possibly the weirdest thing he’s done this year: agree to sit on the same table as Derek Hale.

“Uh... Scott?” Stiles taps his best friend on the shoulder, failing to be subtle as he aggressively jerks his head, eyebrows doing a complicated _Hell No_ ritual high on his forehead. And Scott just ignores him! “The audacity,” Stiles grumbles under his breath, ignoring Derek’s pointed look and slipping into the booth.

“We’ll go get the drinks,” Erica announces cheerfully, grabbing Scott by the forearm and practically skipping to the counter. Stiles gapes on after them, before slowly turning to Derek – who, surprise, surprise, is glowering at the table.

“You know, I’m seriously surprised that your face isn’t stuck that way by now – oh wait, it is, never mind,” Stiles flaps awkwardly, covering his mouth. “I mean, not that it’s a bad thing- well, it is, smiles are always good, but like, y’know, go you, totally rocking the whole... brooding, bad boy persona. Yeah, Derek! Woo...”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs irritably.

“Yeah,”

“Shut up.”

Stiles nods enthusiastically.

“Okay, yep, absolutely. That is totally a thing that I should do. Okay, shutting up now: promise.”

And that would be the extent of their conversation. Stiles stifles a whining noise, opting instead to just sit and fidget with his fingers on the table.

  “Oh my God, look at them. They’re idiots,” Erica hisses under her breath. Scott glances over his shoulder at them and nods in agreement. As much as he’d like to defend his best friend’s honour, Derek is not alone in the idiocy.

“Maybe they really won’t work out... we could just not bother,” Scott tries, wincing when Erica shoots him daggers.

“I’ll get Allison involved, don’t think I won’t,” she warns, wielding a plastic spoon at his face; plastic cutlery has never been so terrifying. “Allison thinks they’d be cute, I think Derek needs to get laid so he’ll stop being a grumpy bastard, Isaac’s already making bets with me about when they’re gonna fuck and God damn it, Scott! I want my money!”

“What about Boyd?” Scott attempts. Erica snorts.

“Boyd is impassive, and even if he was against it, guess what, Scotty boy; firstly, I have that man wrapped around my little finger, and secondly, it still wouldn’t matter because that’s three of us against two.”

Scott sighs resignedly.

“I just fail to see how they’d be good together. Stiles is awesome, okay? And Derek is just so... Derek. He’s a jerk to Stiles all of the time, and he never tells anybody anything! He doesn’t trust anyone, so do you really think he’s emotionally ready for a relationship? I think we’re setting Stiles up for heartbreak – if he even likes Derek at all, that is! Do you really think this is a good idea so soon after Stiles just got burned by Lydia?”

Erica rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

“Stiles isn’t fragile, Scott. Even if somehow things ended badly between them, I’m pretty sure Stiles would be fine soon enough with finally having some experience under his belt. Plus, if this does work out, which I’m certain it will, what better way to get over someone who never appreciated him anyway? This plan is flawless. Oh, and Derek totally trusts Stiles even if he doesn’t think he does. Those guys have saved each other more times than I’ve kissed Boyd – and I’ve done that a lot.”

“How do you even know they like each other?” Scott asks, frowning.

“If your sniffer is that dull, I’d suggest making an appointment with the alpha for some scent training, Scott, seriously. Pheromones. Everywhere.”

Scott scrunches his nose, shaking his head.

“I might get along better with his pack now, but I’ll pass on spending unnecessary time with Derek, thanks,” he scoffs. Erica tilts her head and gives him a wicked grin.

“For someone who apparently hates him, you’re not putting up much of a protest about this,” she smirks, “and anyway, you don’t believe me about the attraction? Watch this.”

“Watch what?” Scott asks, but Erica just pushes a finger over his lips and picks up hers and Derek’s drinks. Scott sighs and shakes his head, grabbing his and Stiles’ orders and following her. Before he even knows what’s happening, Erica has tripped and Derek’s holding his sopping wet, steaming hot shirt in a balled fist, shirtless in the middle of a cafe. Scott gapes, and Erica just winks at him.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” She suddenly bursts out, grabbing the empty cups from the seat and placing them on the table, starting to wipe up the mess with napkins. Derek glares but mutters a reluctant “it’s fine”. Scott risks a glance at Stiles, who’s bright red and squirming and--

“Oh my God,” Scott chokes, then tries to cover it up with a cough as he covers his nose. _Really Stiles? Really? This guy?_ Scott shakes his head.

“Um, yeah, well, while you sort this out, I really need to pee, so...” Stiles bolts out of his seat and rushes into the restrooms. Erica catches Scott’s eye and gives him another wink, smug grin so wide he’s surprised her face isn’t splitting. Dear God.

Okay, alright, so... his best friend is attracted to an alpha werewolf. An alpha werewolf by the name of Derek Hale. Excellent; right, Scott can totally deal with this. Sort of...

* * *

 

  “Boyd, c’mon, you know I’m a terrible liar! How the hell am I supposed to pull this off to Derek? Besides, if _I_ say something’s up and he somehow doesn’t detect the lie, he’s gonna be suspicious anyway because it’s _me_ going to _him_ ,” Scott whines. Boyd gives him an unimpressed look.

“You did a good job of lying to him with Gerard,” is what he responds with. Scott groans, letting his chin fall to his chest before looking back up again.

“When are people gonna let that go? It worked, didn’t it,” he sighs, “but that is _not_ the point. Come on. I’ll even pay you.”

“Fifty dollars,” Boyd smirks.

“Again? Seriously?” Scott stresses, Boyd merely nodding smugly. “Fine. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Boyd says arrogantly.

“Not really...”

* * *

 

  “I am fucking freezing,” Lydia complains, rubbing at her arms as they all stand in a huddle outside the Hale house. According to Boyd, there’s some sort of disturbance in the woods. Derek was going to check it out alone, but obviously Stiles couldn’t have that; so here he is, standing in the woods with Scott, Allison, Lydia and the Hale pack, waiting to go on a stake out with Derek. Stiles can’t help being a little suspicious however. For something urgent, Boyd looks incredibly chilled right now, bored even, and Erica looks all too pleased with herself. Also, Scott’s being really quiet. Unusual levels of quiet. And then Peter turns up.

“Oh my God, what is he doing here?” Stiles groans, letting his head flop backwards. Peter smirks coldly at him.

“Ah, Stiles, it’s been too long,” he says. “Always a pleasure.”

“Not at all a chore...” Stiles grumbles.

“Stiles, give me your hoodie,” Lydia hisses, teeth chattering.

“Is nobody else wondering why Lydia Martin, owner of a million items of clothing, does not have a coat in winter?” Stiles asks, even as he’s handing over his hoodie. Great, now he’s cold. Lydia just gives him a sarcastic smile, her thank you all sickly sweet and mocking.

“One would think you’d leap at the chance to prove your worthiness to the beautiful Lydia,” Peter comments with a sly smirk. Stiles looks at him with a frown.

“Over it, thanks,” he says bluntly. Then backtracks. “Uh, no offense, Lydia! I mean, like, really, I love you, but in a strictly platonic, Jackson-would-rip-my-spleen-out kind of way. You are far too terrifying.” Not at all surprisingly, this makes Lydia preen.

Peter snorts, throwing something up in the air then catching it. Is that a... CD?

“Well,” he chirps, “I’ll be off.”

“Creep,” Scott mutters, taking hold of Allison’s hand. Stiles nods solemnly in agreement and Isaac snorts. Derek just rolls his eyes, dragging Stiles by the scruff of his shirt with a grumbled, “come on, we’re leaving,” and yeah, Stiles is going to totally ignore the part where the aggressive manhandling has become something of a turn on recently rather than an annoyance. Christ, when did that happen? He doesn’t even want to think about it.

  They’ve been out here for an hour already, searching high and low, milling around, and looking for any signs of anything. Derek says he can’t even pick out any unusual scents or see any irregular tracks, nor can he hear anything out of the ordinary. Stiles is starting to think this is a very cruel joke that’s being played, because whatever the hell it was that was apparently here has dragged him out of bed at midnight and now he’s here at one O’clock in the morning, freezing cold and shivering, stumbling to keep up with an increasingly agitated werewolf with serious communication issues. “Mm,” is _not_ an acceptable answer to “When are we going home?” thank you very much, Derek.

“Derek,” Stiles whines, “I’m cold, I’m tired and there is nothing out here. I am freezing my balls off, okay? Can we just leave and come back some other time? Preferably when there’s daylight and I have a jacket, y’know, so I can actually see where I’m walking and feel my nipples!”

“You want to feel your nipples? Somehow I don’t think that’s appropriate in public,” Derek deadpans. Stiles sputters indignantly.

“I- what even? Scott would never believe me if I told him you actually had jokes! Oh my God!” Stiles squawks, “Oh, and also? So not the time for them! Why are you so inappropriate? Give me your jacket or something, I’m dying and you have werewolf heat. Seriously, if I stop shivering, my hospital bill is on your bank account, buddy. I am not built for hyperthermia.”

“Humans,” Derek grumbles, shrugging off his leather jacket and shoving it into Stiles’ arms. Stiles nearly weeps with relief, pulling it on immediately. It’s heavy and thick, Derek’s warmth clinging to the inner lining and wrapping Stiles up like the best blanket. He zips it up, and it smells like Derek, like soap and musk and trees. Stiles sighs happily, not caring that it looks ridiculous on his slight frame. The bigger the jacket, the warmer, right? He completely disregards the fluttering in his stomach. So not going there.

They go back to the car to stake out from the tree line again, and Stiles is bored already, starting to drum out little beats on his legs. Irritated already, Derek turns on his car radio.

“Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden starts blasting, and Derek’s face is comical.

“Wow, Derek, never had you down for a romantic,” Stiles whistles with a smirk. Derek scowls at him, ejecting the CD.

“Shut up, this is not mine.” He tries again, pressing another button for another CD in the player, and this time his face is impossibly more hilarious when One Direction’s “Irresistible” starts to play.

“Aw, Derek, such a cutie!” Stiles cackles, not at all regretful even when he gets a painful thwack on the back of his head, courtesy of the back of Derek’s hand.

  If, by the end of the night, Stiles ends up with Derek’s leather jacket at home? Completely by mistake. Besides, if Derek had a problem with it then he sure as hell would have said something. Apparently that thought leads to all kinds of dangerous wonderings, starting with Derek not minding Stiles getting his scent all over his jacket.

“You are pathetic,” Stiles tells himself, groaning at his reflection. The sleeves are an inch too long and the shoulders sag a little despite him being broad there; let’s face it, he’ll never be as wide set as Derek. Must be a Hale thing, because Peter sure as hell has wide shoulders too. Peter is definitely no Derek, though. God, those eyes and that stubble on top of that body? Really? That shit shouldn’t be genetically possible. “Really, really pathetic. Go to sleep.”

* * *

 

  A week later and there’s twelve days ‘til Christmas. Stiles is in the mall again, doing the last bits of his Christmas shopping. This time, however, despite it being even more chaotic – much like he predicted – it’s okay, because he has bodyguards: Scott the werewolf of awesomeness and Allison the hunter of badass-ery.

It’s becoming a bit of a habit; it seems, bumping into Derek/Derek’s pack/Derek and his pack in random places. This time it’s Isaac and Boyd. Boyd is wearing this giant smirk on his face, and Isaac sighs and slaps $10 into Boyd’s outstretched palm.

“Okay...” Stiles trails off uncertainly. Then he looks down at his body, at which Boyd is smirking at, and heat rushes to his cheeks as he realises what’s apparently so funny.

“Nice jacket, Stilinski,” Isaac comments, sounding for all the world like the cat that got the cream; Stiles wants to drown him in it. “Enjoy wearing Derek’s clothes, huh?”

“No!” Stiles sputters, shrugging it off immediately and shoving it into Isaac’s chest. “I was going to return it after shopping but I couldn’t be bothered to hold it so I put it on while I had it because why not, it’s cold, so shut up with your weird face and your judge-y eyebrows. Go away.”

Somewhere behind him, he hears Allison mutter “Smooth”; she is totally _not_ getting any Christmas presents this year. Scott isn’t saying anything at all when he should be helping Stiles out here – although, Stiles doubts Scott even knows what the problem is. Actually, Stiles is kind of curious as to why Scott hasn’t mentioned the jacket at all, y’know, considering it’s too big for him, probably smells like the alpha, and he hasn’t owned anything leather since a pair of fancy shoes he wore to a wedding three years ago. It’s clearly Derek’s jacket. But, still, whatever. Stiles needs help and Scott is a terrible friend. He and Allison deserve each other.

“Sure thing,” Isaac nods in a manner that would have been placating if it weren’t for the big smirk and the faux solemnity. Stiles huffs as they walk away.

“Scott, give me your jacket.”

“What? No way!”

“Scott, you are a werewolf. You have a lot of body heat. You did not just help me out there. Give me your jacket.”

Scott looks at him for a moment before sighing, shrugging off his hoodie and handing it over.

“Good pup,” Stiles smirks, shrugging into it. Scott snaps his teeth almost completely playfully – really, there’s only just a _little_ heat behind the gesture.

* * *

 

  “Derek is grumpy,” is the first thing that falls out of Jackson’s mouth. Stiles startles, slamming his elbow into his locker and groaning in pain.

They're in the school just for an hour or so today, because apparently Christmas holidays don't apply to teachers and they have decided that today is a good day to give the students their test results that were delayed due to "an issue in the office", whatever that means.

“Okay... and why are you telling me this?” He asks meekly, rubbing at his elbow, entire arm clutched to his chest.

“Derek’s grumpy. Go and cheer him up after school, _before_ the guy murders us all.”

Stiles immediately straightens out, mouth agape with incredulity.

“He’s not my alpha! You cheer him up! Why is this any of my business? What would even make you think that my annoying ass would cheer up his depressing soul? Go away, Jackson. I bet Danny will do it.”

“Danny doesn’t know,” Jackson snaps irritably, “and he might not be your alpha but he’s ours, which is exactly why we can’t because he commanded us to leave him alone. Besides, for whatever reason he seems to like you.”

“That is a lie and we both know it,” Stiles squawks, slamming his locker door shut and turning the dials to lock it.

“Not a lie,” Jackson growls, before turning around and storming off down the corridor. Stiles sticks his tongue out; what an asshole, he thinks.

  Somehow Stiles finds himself in the train wreck, searching up and down the carriages ‘til he finds Derek. He knows Derek can smell him, hear him and possibly even see him, so he knows for damn sure that his presence is being ignored – or, more accurately: hidden from.

“C’mon Sourwolf,” Stiles sighs, “come out, come out, wherever you are.” Still no response. Stiles rolls his eyes and heads over to the back carriage where there’s a set up of surprisingly clean mattresses, duvets and pillows, obviously where the pack sleeps when they stay with Derek. Why, Stiles will never know. Why stay with Derek at all while he’s living here when they have comfortable homes to go to. Well, except Isaac. Stiles understands why Isaac lives in here with Derek.

With a huff, Stiles sets the pizza boxes down on a seat and drops onto Derek’s bed. There’s a good chance he could have his throat ripped out (by Derek’s teeth, blah, blah, blah) in doing so, invading the alpha’s territory and all that, getting his non-pack scent all over the sheets, but he’s too tired to care.

“Come on,” he calls, “I have pizzas and cider and you know damn well I’m not going anywhere until you’ve at least had half of one of these bad boys.”

A grumpy, reluctant Derek appears from the shadows with messy hair and a frown that looks suspiciously close to a pout.

“Someone having a bad day, huh?” Stiles asks, patting the space next to him on the mattress. Surprisingly, Derek goes down next to him and accepts the slice of pizza handed to him. “What’s wrong?”

Derek doesn’t respond for a long moment, opting to instead eat the pizza he’s been given. But then, once he’s swallowed his final bite of that slice, he does answer.

“It would’ve been Laura’s birthday today,” he admits, burying his face into the pillow next to Stiles’ hip.

Stiles gulps, mind flying back to Laura’s cold, filthy body, lying naked and stiff in the ground, dead eyes staring up at him and Scott. He thinks of Derek’s arrest, how it must have felt to find your sister cut in half and then be blamed for it. But Stiles doesn’t say sorry, or anything to “placate”, because the things people say as a common courtesy do the opposite of placate; they agitate.

“I bet she would have loved this pizza,” he ponders, shooting a quick glance in Derek’s direction. Derek’s head is still stuffed into the pillows, but for a moment Stiles knows he sees a dimple appear in Derek’s cheek. Derek totally smiled.

“Hawaiian was her favourite actually,” Derek says. Stiles scoffs.

“Your sister had issues. Who puts fruit on pizza? Gross.”

Derek lifts his head from where it was previously buried and gives Stiles an honest-to-God smile; an actual _smile_!

“Yeah, she did.”

* * *

 

  At some point while Stiles wasn’t looking, Scott became pretty good friends with Isaac, Erica and Boyd. That’s how he finds himself at a pack movie night hosted in Scott’s living room.

“Pack movie night?” Stiles questions. “I thought we weren’t in Derek’s pack.”

Scott shrugs, thumbing through a collection of DVDs to find _The Silence of the Lambs_ as per request.

“They’re cool people. Derek’s easier to ignore lately, he’s actually not that bad. We’re not in his pack but, well, I think I could see myself being in it, maybe... What about you?”

Stiles looks back into the living room where the pack are. Derek is sitting alone in the armchair, but Isaac is on the floor resting his head on Derek’s legs with an easy look on his face. Erica and Boyd are piled on one side of the couch, and Lydia is on Jackson’s lap on the other side of it. The beanbags where he and Scott were sitting in the middle of the floor look lonely, like they’re waiting for the two of them to sit and join in again. Stiles glances at Derek again, notes the lack of tension in his shoulders, appreciates the way the fairy lights in the windows light up his eyes, and smiles. When he turns back to Scott, his answer is confident and assured.

“Definitely.”

* * *

 

  Finally, on Christmas Eve, there’s snow. Of course this means that the pack, mature people that they are, have to wrap up and flee into the woods for an epic snowball fight. Seriously, snowball fights with werewolves are a whole other level. Stiles is psyched.

Derek doesn’t participate much, but Stiles sees the little smirk on his face when he gets Isaac back for the snowball to the face earlier by dumping a handful down the back of his shirt. It looks good on him, this more relaxed air around him. Things have been quiet recently, Christmas is around the corner, and finally everyone is working as a pack; the newfound peace, no matter how temporary it may be, brings out a side of Derek that Stiles never knew existed, and he loves it.

“Hide and seek! Derek, you seek, we hide!” Erica suddenly bellows, and in the blink of an eye the entire pack has disappeared beyond the trees. Stiles looks at Derek. Derek looks back at Stiles.

“Better start counting, grumpy!” Stiles snorts, bolting off in some random direction, the echo of Derek’s long suffering sigh following him on the wind. He laughs and makes a break for the peak, ducking down behind the large stone and curling up into himself with a gleeful grin. It takes Derek exactly ten minutes to find him.

“That took you a lot longer than I anticipated,” Stiles comments. Derek shrugs nonchalantly.

“Snow makes tracking harder because it pretty much dulls all of your senses: scents, sight, and sound. Plus, I walked.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles agrees. “Right, let’s go and find your pups, shall we?”

“Don’t ever call them my pups again. I will feed you your own intestines after strangling you with them,” Derek huffs. Stiles barks out a laugh, patting Derek on the shoulder and grinning when he gets a playful snap of fangs in response.

“Sure, buddy,” he smiles, “sure thing.”

  “I think we’ve been ditched,” Stiles finally concludes, as he and Derek end up in the exact same spot that they were in an hour ago. Derek nods grumpily. “I am cold and hungry. Take me home.”

“There’s a diner nearby and it’s closer,” Derek suggests, nodding his head towards the edge of the woods where Stiles can just about make out the dim glimmer of lights in a shop window.

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared,” Stiles teases.

“Shut up, Stiles.”

  They end up sitting across from each other in a booth, and Stiles can’t help the way his heartbeat kicks up a notch. He can’t help but notice the date-like features of this situation: the secluded booth, the food, the fact that Derek paid for all of it and turned down Stiles’ offer to pay for his own food and drink. He’s got curly fries and a gourmet burger with a glass of coke, he’s sitting across from a gorgeous man who has completely surprised him these past few weeks by being funny and surprisingly considerate, and tomorrow is Christmas.

“Y’know, if I weren’t me or if you weren’t you, this would totally be a date,” Stiles says before he can stop himself. Derek looks stunned for a moment. _Great, way to dig yourself a grave in a matter of seconds, Stilinski. Nice one._ “I mean, just, you know...”

“Why does it matter who it is?” Derek asks, shocking Stiles into a small choking fit.

“What?” He sputters.

“Why does it matter who the people are on the date?” Derek clarifies, and Stiles just about has a heart attack right then and there.

“Are you saying this is a date?”

“I- no.”

“You totally are!” Stiles says gleefully.

“Shut up,” Derek huffs, but there’s a faint pink on his cheeks and it’s the most adorable thing in the world. “I’m twenty-three; it’s wrong.”

“Hey! I am seventeen in a month and technically it’s not illegal if we aren’t doing the dirty!” Stiles protests, because he’ll be damned if he’s letting an opportunity like this go by. Derek just groans, burying his face in his hands.

Hey, wait a minute...

The coffee, the fake stake out, the music in the car, the money Isaac gave to Boyd when they saw him wearing Derek’s jacket, the ditching during hide and seek...

“Holy shit, we’ve been set up! This is ridiculous! They set us up! Oh my God- wait! Who the hell even cares? You are totally saying this is a date. Holy God, you want to date me. You like my jailbait ass. Holy shit! This is important! A hot, leather-wearing werewolf thinks I’m dateable. Let me just process this.”

Meanwhile, Derek stares longingly at the exit, wondering just how he finds himself in these situations.

“Are you going to kiss me then?” Stiles asks cheekily, waggling his eyebrows.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek sighs.

“Well, are you?”

“That depends,” Derek reasons. “Are you going to shut up?”

“Maybe you should shut me up.” And who said Stiles Stilinski isn’t smooth? Hell, he totally has game.

“Deal,” Derek says, then reaches over the table and cups his face in his hands, and when Derek’s lips meet his, he swears he feels explosions going off in his gut. He grabs at Derek’s shoulders, kissing back eagerly, and Derek just slows him, dominates it, kissing the breath out of his lungs with soft, hungry lips and a talented tongue. When Derek pulls away, Stiles is pretty sure he’s a puddle of goo on the floor.

“So, um, totally a thing we should do more often. A hundred out of ten, would recommend. Definitely thinking we should get the pack something awesome to say thank you,” he stammers, dazed and euphoric like he’s never been before. Derek just shakes his head, snorting.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but there’s a small smile on his face, soft and easy. Stiles thinks he doesn’t mind being ridiculous if it puts that beautiful expression on Derek’s face.


End file.
